Illuminating Heat
by Cloudtrader
Summary: On the orders of Lord Voldemort, Draco tries to kill Harry. It all goes wrong and Snape must clean up the mess.


Author:  Maddie Eerie  
Title:  Illuminating Heat  
Rating/Codes:  PG-13  
Pairing:  Barely there, but yeah, it's Harry/Snape.  
Summary:  Death Eater meetings, sex education, misfired assassination attempts, and more potions ingredients than you can shake a snake at.  Oh, what is a poor Potions Master to do?  
Disclaimer: Belongs to JKR. No profit. No infringement etc.  
Challenge:  Challenge #62 – Lucius asks Draco to poison Harry, per Voldemort's orders, and Snape catches advance knowledge of this.  He must now figure out how to prevent the assassination without betraying his position in the Dark Lord's army.  (Snaples)  
Note: Part of "From Dusk til Dawn - the Harry Potter/Severus Snape Fuh-Q-Fest" at: http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS  
A/N: This story was entirely written in my classes when I should have been taking notes.  Shame one me.  Also, thanks to Alseides Tossblack for all of her wonderful support.  
Beta:  Starkiller, the amazing Fanfic Goddess!  
Warning: Nope.

Illuminating Heat

by Maddie Eerie

With how boring Death Eater meetings were, it was a wonder anyone ever joined.  Once you did join, however, you dared not miss a meeting.  The Cruciatus Curse was only one of the tortures in Lord Voldemort's arsenal – most were more subtle and had longer-lasting effects.  Take this meeting for instance.  It was surely an insidious form of mental torture to have to report every little activity in furtherance of the Dark Arts that they had undertaken since the Dark Lord's "unfortunate accident" fifteen years ago.

Severus longingly wished for the type of hipflask that Moody-Crouch-whoever had indulged in.  Filled with poison.  So he could kill himself fast rather than have to endure this slow, agonizing torture of hearing middle-aged men and women desperately trying to justify their petty acts of self-satisfying cruelty as supremely Dark deeds in stammering voices.  The fact of the matter was that most Death Eaters had been as relieved as Snape himself had been when Lord Voldemort was defeated all those years ago.  Sure, they'd enjoyed the horror and pain they'd inflicted on the Wizarding world, but it was rather in the manner of naughty school children kicking a puppy or maliciously pulling the wings off a bug.  They'd grown up and gotten on with their lives.  While most Death Eaters were like naughty school children, Severus counted himself among the second group, the ones who were truly in it for the power and the ones that were fanatical, idealists totally devoted to Lord Voldemort's vision of the world.  Severus was no thug.

Actually, he wasn't in that second group, he just projected the image that he was.  He hoped.  Severus tuned into the sniveling going on in front of the Dark Lord – it was Peony Parkinson, telling of casting the Diarrhea Curse on her neighbor – and sent a sneer around the room before tuning out again.  It was a skill he'd first used in the original Death Eater meetings and perfected over years of Hogwarts staff meetings.  He went back to plotting the next weeks torture session – ah, Potions lesson that is, keeping a bit of his mind on the proceedings surrounding him for when he was called before the Dark Lord.  It wouldn't do to seem inattentive.

The first meeting of the Death Eaters he'd gone to after Lord Voldemort's return had basically been a ceremony to re-swear allegiance to the Dark Lord under Veritaserum.  Fortunately for him, there were potions that could counteract the truth serum.  Most of them were known and detectible but he was a Potions expert for a reason – he'd brewed up a counteragent to the Veritaserum that was completely undetectable.  He'd never told anyone about it either, not even Albus.  A secret weapon wasn't much of a weapon if it wasn't secret, and a secret shared was no longer safe.  He'd actually developed the potion during the Dark Lord's first reign of terror, in Lord Voldemort's own labs, no less.  He was rather proud of that.

After that first summer meeting Lord Voldemort had gone to ground, only to emerge briefly at the end of Harry Potter's fifth year.  He'd apparently spent the time strengthening himself and his stronghold.  He'd been back for a year and a half and he was only now getting to his loyal Death Eaters again.  Severus thought this was a bit of a mistake but who was he, really, to judge the twisted workings of a Dark Lord's mind.

"Severus Snape," called out a tinny, hollow voice he recognized as that of the sniveling little maggot, Peter Pettigrew.  He managed to restrain his start and rose gracefully, striding to the foot of the Dark Lord's throne with his robe billowing behind him.  With his hooked nose and imperious features, he looked like a dour vulture – a look he actively cultivated.  He stooped to one knee and bowed his head obsequiously.

"My lord."

"Ah, yesss, Ssseverusss Sssnape, my trusted Potionsss Massster."  Snape idly wondered if the sibilant hisses in the Dark Lord's speech were an affectation or a new speech impediment to go along with his new body.  "Look at me and sssay what you have done in furtherance of the Dark, what you have done in My name."

Severus looked at the monstrosity he called his lord.  All those years ago, Tom Riddle had gathered his followers to him with charm and promises, preying on the insecurities and hidden appetites of outcast witches and wizards and the hunger for power that those supremely sure of themselves, like Lucius Malfoy and Harold Abbott, lusted after.  Nowadays, however, all of Tom Riddle's charm was gone and Lord Voldemort ruled by fear and pain.  Any betrayal was met with swift, terrible punishment and death.  In fact, Severus would probably be wetting himself in terror right now under the Dark Lord's horrible gaze if he hadn't taken a powerful Calming Draught right before the meeting.  Yes, it was good to be the Potions Master, with access to all those lovely magical ingredients that could make so many lovely potions.

Severus took a breath and began.  "Shortly after you became… unavailable, I was taken by the Aurors and sent to Azkaban.  I had destroyed your laboratory before they came so there was no evidence against me.  I was thus able to buy my way out."  Which was a blatant falsehood, since it was actually Albus Dumbledore who'd gotten him out, but other Death Eaters actually had been released through the application of suitable bribes to certain Ministry officials.  "I wished to continue my research into the Dark Arts – in your name, of course, my lord – but in an environment where I would have free access to the materials I need for my work and yet remain relatively unsupervised.  Hogwarts was the perfect institution and also had the added bonus of allowing me to mould young minds and steer them in the direction of the Dark."

"And ssscar generationsss of impresssssionable young children.  No doubt you are the sssubject of many a ssstudentsss nightmaresss, Ssseverusss."  The Dark Lord chuckled indulgently.

Severus inclined his head in agreement.  "Yes, my lord."  Actually, while he certainly didn't mind the fear-filled respect given to him by his cowed students, he was actually so severe because Potions was an exacting and dangerous discipline and flighty, hormonal children needed to be forced into paying attention lest they accidentally kill themselves or someone else.

"Hasss your resssearch paid off, Ssseverusss?"

"Oh yes, my lord, it has indeed."  His smile had true feeling behind it – Snape was proud of his achievements.  "I have created a series of potions that trigger emotions in the subject from hate, fear, and humiliation to love, happiness, and gratitude.  Side effects are minimal.  I have also recreated the lost Flamesuit Potion, which will have many useful applications for us, your humble servants, on our future raids in your name, my lord.  A fortuitous accident in one of my classes pointed me in the right direction for formulating what I call the Severspirit Potion, which allows the drinker to leave their body behind for a while in moderate doses, or at higher levels can completely separate a person's spirit from their body while the subject is still alive.  To mask my other activities, I've been slowly perfecting the Wolfsbane Potion.  The Ministry is quite pleased," he sneered.

"Very good, Ssseverusss."  He breathed a mental sigh of relief that the Dark Lord seemed pleased with him, but he tensed up again at the next hissed words.  "You have alssso placed yourssself in an excellent posssition to be even more usssefull for our caussse.  Peter here hasss told me how you helped him essscape."

Pettigrew smirked down at him from Lord Voldemort's side, his pudgy form even more unpleasant with that atrocious metal arm that was surely the epitome of bad taste in evil accessories.  Severus gritted his teeth.  "Anything to help my brother Death Eaters, lord."

"Yesss.  You will extend that attitude to your future brothersss asss well.  You heard my directionsss to Luciusss Malfoy, of courssse."  Snape nodded, desperately wishing now that he had paid better attention to what the others had said.  "You will help the boy in hisss tasssk, make sssure neither of you are detected, asss I will need you later to dissspossse of that fool Dumbledore.  Once Harry Potter isss dead, we will begin our conquessst."

"By your command, Lord Voldemort."  The Dark Lord dismissed him and Severus bowed, rose, and walked away in a daze, vaguely hearing the rat call for the next victim – ahem, loyal minion – to present himself.

Severus sank back into his seat.  If he understood correctly, Draco Malfoy was supposed to kill Harry Potter.  Probably with some poison, which was why the Dark Lord wanted Severus involved.

Okay, so what did that mean for him?  First he needed to alert Albus to the problem and come up with a plan to deal with it.  Severus had to appear to help young Malfoy so as not to give himself away as a spy while at the same time preventing Potter's death, after which he had to make sure both he and Draco survived the Dark Lord's ire over their failure.  Right.  No problem.  Severus bowed his head in despair.  He was doomed.  Where was a hipflask full of poison when you really needed it?

Severus Snape had never really thought he'd end up as a teacher.  After graduating from Hogwarts he'd been apprenticed to the Grand Master of Potions, Grimley Gaberov himself.  He'd spent the best two years of his life in Moscow with Gaberov before the old coot finally kicked the bucket.  He'd come back to Britain and looked around for the best potions laboratory to do his research in, which naturally ran more towards the Dark Arts end of the brewing spectrum.  He'd been recruited into the ranks of Death Eaters with promises of access to rare and illegal ingredients and the freedom to work on them unhindered.  He'd been happy as a clam in the Dark Lord's ample potions lab – until he'd seen what his skills were being used in furtherance of.  Crushing shame had motivated him to defect to the side of Light as embodied by Albus Dumbledore.

He still loved potions and research, but he could never again take the sheer cerebral pleasure in them that he'd had before Voldemort twisted his efforts.  After Voldemort's initial demise, no research facility or university would deign to employ an ex-Death Eater, even with his impressive credentials.  Teaching at Hogwarts had really been his only option.  At least he still got to do a little research in between having to deal with hundreds of sniveling brats.

No, he'd never expected to be a teacher, but he was not totally displeased with his position.  Guiding the occasional rare student with the talent for Potions towards the realization of a love for the work was one of his few joys.  He also got a malicious pleasure out of terrorizing the students, arrogant Gryffindors especially.  He even enjoyed interacting with some of the other professors on occasion.  So teaching at Hogwarts wasn't all that bad except for one thing.  The Talk.

He'd managed to get out of doing it last year, foisting the Talk off on that nitwit of a DADA professor, and the year before Filius Flitwick had taken it, but this year it appeared his number was up.  Thank Merlin that Potter and his year mates were sixth years now, although he still had to deal with, his lip curled in disgust, _Gryffindors_.  If that Creevy brat brought his camera he would be eating it…

As the fifth year boys of all the Houses slunk into his classroom, Snape spared a thought to his colleague, Madam Pomfrey.  She took the fifth year girls for this Talk every year.  He didn't know how she stood it.  Poppy was an otherwise reasonable and sane witch, but to actually _enjoy_ giving the Talk to hormone-infested children each year…  Snape shuddered.  At least he only had to do it every few years.  Sometimes he thought that Dumbledore had a streak of Voldemort's sadism to force him to do this.

Well, no, the Headmaster was nothing like He-Who-Liked-To-Cause-Pain.  When he'd finally gotten back from the Death Eater meeting late last night, Albus had been waiting for him, concerned.  He'd provided Severus with soothing warmed Butterbeer and some sweet biscuits.  He'd managed to regain some of the calm he'd had before the Calming Draught wore off in the Headmaster's office.  Albus had gently interrogated him, coaxing all pertinent details out of him.  He truly wished that he could tell his kindly patron more, but the Portkey that had taken him to Voldemort's lair had been owled to him and he hadn't actually known where the meeting was being held.  They'd discussed the implications of Draco Malfoy being ordered to kill Harry Potter long into the morning.  They hadn't decided on a plan of action yet, but they'd both agreed that Snape needed to stall young Malfoy for as long as he could.  Supper was already over and Snape planned to speak with the young Slytherin that night before he went to bed.  Once he had this bloody Talk over and done with, that is!

He shook himself free of his thoughts and looked up to take a quick headcount.  Everyone seemed to be here.  Too bad, taking House points away would really cheer him up about now.  Ah well, the first time someone so much as fidgeted they were toast.  As long as they weren't Slytherin, of course.  His students got enough grief from the other teachers; they didn't need their own Head of House heaping it on as well.

He decided it was time to start.  "Sex."  The students jumped at his voice and he sneered at them.  It was one of his best expressions.  "We're here tonight to talk about sex."  From the horrified and appalled expressions among the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, no one had thought to warn them about the topic of tonight's "special lesson."  The Slytherin's all wore smug, knowing expressions and the Ravenclaws had their quills poised, ready to take notes.  Snape barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"I'm sure you all know the common masturbatory spells, taught to you by your year mates who have older brothers no doubt, so I don't think I have to tell you what an orgasm is.  You're all probably also experienced with wet dreams.  However, before we venture on to the realms beyond solo gratification, are there any questions?"  He glared around the room, daring the students to raise their hands and face his wrath.  It appeared he had them sufficiently cowed, so Snape continued.  "Sex comes in many different varieties, although the most common is relations between one male and one female.  The most important part of this kind of sexual contact is the knowledge of contraception.  First, I will go over the biology of sex and sexual diseases and then we'll talk about preventing pregnancy and then the other forms of sexual contact and relations, including oral and anal.  We'll also cover alternative lifestyle choices, including being gay or transgendered.  Finally, we'll go over and define the terms bondage, sadomasochism, sex toys, and fetishes.  Well then, when a man becomes aroused, the erectile tissue in his penis becomes engorged with blood–"

The door to the classroom crashed open and a panting, redheaded whirlwind stumbled inside.  "Professor!  Madam Pomfrey said to come!  My brother – something's wrong!"  It was Ginny Weasley and she looked scared.

"Calm yourself, Miss Weasley.  Tell me what has happened."

"Madam Pomfrey was telling us about, you know, sex…" she blushed bright red, as did most of the boys in the room "when Harry and Hermione brought in Ron.  He won't wake up!  Madam Pomfrey said it looked like poison!  She told me to get you!"

"Very well.  You are all dismissed, go to your dorms."  The boys fled in relief.  "Come, Miss Weasley."  He hurried toward the Infirmary, the worried Weasley girl on his heels.  Severus had a sinking feeling that he knew what had happened.  Draco Malfoy had made his attempt without coming to him first and it had misfired onto Ronald Weasley rather than Harry Potter.  He only hoped that Malfoy had made another mistake and there was still time to save Mister Weasley.

He burst into the Infirmary, pushed aside the hovering Potter and Granger, and went to Pomfrey's side.  "Tell me," he barked out.

Poppy turned to him, frantic but professional.  "He collapsed right after supper.  It's not a spell and he has no health issues, so it must be a poison.  I've pumped his stomach and dosed him with the standard curatives, but he still won't wake up.  His heart stopped.  I have a Paceus charm keeping it beating."

"We need to know what poison it was."

She nodded.  "I've drawn blood."  She held several vials out to him.

"Good.  I'll be back as soon as I've analyzed this."  Snape turned to go to his lab and was confronted with a group of anxious Gryffindors.  It was the fifth year boys and he realized they must have followed him from the aborted sex education lecture.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!  Go to your Tower _now_."

"But sir–!" Creevy protested.

"Ten more points from Gryffindor.  Mister Weasley is being well taken care of and you will be informed as to his condition later.  Leave now or I shall take a point for every second you linger."

The students beat a hasty retreat and Snape stormed down to the Slytherin dungeons.  The blank stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin rooms opened without his even having to voice the password.  It knew not to get in his way hen he was this angry.  His eyes swept the Slytherin Common Room and focused like spears on the boy huddled miserably in the corner, his two lackeys standing by with more confusion than was normal on their faces.

"Mister Malfoy!  My office, _now_."  The trembling boy followed him.

"Is he d-dead?" Draco asked in a small voice.

"What did you use?"  The boy flinched but Snape had no time to coddle him.  "Tell me!"

"The Narcomortalis Potion."

Snape paused to think.  The Narcomortalis Potion was extremely effective.  It painlessly killed the subject in their sleep.  It was a surprisingly humane potion for the heir of a Death Eater to choose to use.  However, it was fatal and there was no cure.  But it shouldn't have _put_ the boy to sleep, unless…

"How did you administer it?" he demanded.

Draco flinched again and wrung his hands.  "I put it in Potter's pumpkin juice.  Is he dead, sir?"

"Your first mistake was not coming to me.  I would have told you that the interaction of the acids in the pumpkin juice with that potion may have unforeseen effects.  Your second mistake was not making sure that Potter drank it.  Ronald Weasley is in the Infirmary right now in a coma."

Draco gasped and started crying.  "I'm s-sorry!"

"Are you sorry that you failed or for trying to kill in the first place, Mister Malfoy?"

"I don't know!" Draco sobbed.

Severus nodded thoughtfully.  He'd never known before how seriously Draco took his junior Death Eater status, whether he really understood what was involved.  Now he knew that while Draco was a malicious, spoiled young man, he didn't have it in him to follow the Dark Lord with true evil in his heart.  Draco had never faced hardship or pain in his entire life.  He wasn't strong enough not to break under the yoke of the Dark Arts.

Later.  He could try to save young Malfoy later.  Right now he had a Gryffindor to save.  He dismissed the shaken Draco with the admonishment not to speak of this to anyone and then set about contemplating the problem.  The true Narcomortalis Potion was fatal, but he had no idea what a pumpkin juice adulterated version might do.  He strode to his bulging bookcase and took down his tome on Death Potions.  Narcomortalis was in the painless category – by far the smallest section in the book.  Nixie blood, powdered topaz, holy water, the eye of a water elemental, gargoyle horn, will-o-wisp essence… ah, that was it!  The acid in the pumpkin juice must have neutralized the will-o-wisp essence, which served to activate the powdered topaz.  Which meant… yes!  He couldn't brew a cure without a lot of further research, but he could make something that would at least keep Weasley alive.  Fortunately, he had the right ingredients.

Snape spent the next few hours carefully adapting a standard curative potion to help.  He boiled three salamander scales and a hair from a saint in a mixture of one-third naga blood and two-thirds ghost ectoplasm for exactly five minutes.  Then he added two drams of distilled water, a scruple of hydra venom, and three seeds from a pumpkin harvested in the dark of the moon.  He stirred the whole mess with a silver rod widdershins exactly thirty-one times.  Then he used the Centrifugus spell to separate out a few ounce of a clear, shimmering purple potion that he hoped would stabilize the youngest Weasley boy.  He bottled it quickly in a glass flask and hurried back to the Infirmary.

The Infirmary was crowded with a sea of redheads when he got there.  It appeared that the whole Weasley family had turned out to see about Ron.  Fred, George, and Ginny were asleep in chairs near Ron's bed.  Mrs. Weasley was holding Ron's freckled hand while hugging Harry Potter, both of them anxiously watching the sick boy.  Percy was quietly talking to Hermione Granger in the corner of the room while Bill and Charlie sat slumped in another set of chairs watching their father pace around the room.  Madam Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore were in the next room.  All eyes turned to him as he entered.

He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous at all the eyes pleading with him to help their son/brother/friend.

"Severus?" Madam Pomfrey said as she came into the room.  "Have you found something?  That was fast."

He decided now was not the time to say that he hadn't bothered analyzing Ron's blood since he had asked the poisoner himself what the poison had been.  "It was an adulterated version of the Narcomortalis Potion."

Mrs. Weasley made a little whimpering sound and stood up.  "But… that's fatal, isn't it?"

"Not this time," he said as comfortingly as he could, although it didn't seem to reassure anyone.  He turned back to Poppy.  "Have there been any changes?"

"He had a seizure about an hour ago and he's been having trouble breathing."

"Ah," he said thoughtfully.  He hadn't expected the seizure but his potion should still help.  Hopefully.

"Is there anything you can do?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Yes."  Severus produced the glass flask with the sparkling purple liquid he'd made inside of it.  "This should stabilize his condition so he won't… expire."

"Oh, thank you!"  Mrs. Weasley threw herself at him.  Severus found himself being hugged in Molly Weasley's ample, mothering arms.  It was disconcerting.  He didn't like people touching him at the best of times and this was beyond uncomfortable for him.

"Madame, please!"  He extracted himself from the sobbing woman, handing her off to her two oldest sons.  Ginny and the twins were awake now due to the hullabaloo.  Ginny started sniffling at the sight of her crying mother and the twins tried to comfort her.  Severus sighed.  He didn't want to add to their distress but he didn't want to give them false hope either.  "Please, it's not a cure.  I'm sorry, but death potions aren't my specialty" he resolutely ignored the surprised stare Harry Potter sent him at that pronouncement, although he was surprised by how much it still hurt that people – particularly the boy he'd kept alive time and again – thought the worst of him "and I can't brew a cure.  I could try, and I will certainly do my best, but you need a specialist.  In fact…" Severus paused to think, tapping the potion-filed flask against his chin thoughtfully.  He knew somebody who'd made death potions his life's work but whether they'd consent to help was another thing altogether.

"Yes well," Poppy bustled over to him and snatched the fruits of his labor out of his hand, "first things first.  If this will stabilize his condition, Ron must have it right away.  Severus, what's the dosage, how should it be administered, and are there any side-effects?"

"Right.  Just pour the whole thing down his gullet and use the Swallowatus spell to get it in his stomach.  Once it's in his system, his color and breathing will improve and there should be no more seizures or heart arrhythmias.  He won't wake up though.  It's not a cure, but a daily dose will keep him alive until a cure can be found.  The only side effects should be skin translucency, but I don't know what the long term effects might be.  We need to keep a close eye on him."

"Of course," the nurse said.  She immediately went to Ron's side and dosed him.  Everyone in the room held their breath, even the normally impervious Headmaster.  The only sound in the room was the hitch of Ron's breathing.  Even Arthur Weasley had stopped pacing and was watching Ron for any changes.

The effects of Snape's potion soon became apparent.  Ron's breathing evened out and his whole body seemed to relax.  Some of the color came back into the boy's face.  He no longer seemed to be knocking on death's door.  In fact, he positively seemed to glow – a side effect of the hydra venom, Severus knew.

With Ron out of immediate danger and the excitement being over for the night, Madam Pomfrey sent the five protesting Gryffindor students off to bed.  After assuring Ron's parents several times that Ron would not die and he would be better soon, Madam Pomfrey sent the older Weasley brothers and their parents away with promises of thrice-daily updates on his condition.  Molly Weasley seemed determined to visit her stricken son every day, too.  Severus supposed he couldn't blame her, although he wasn't looking forward to anymore… hugs.  He curled his upper lip in disgust at the thought.

Finally, only he, Poppy, and Albus were left with the patient.  Snape sat down heavily by the boy's bedside.  He lifted Ron's arm to check for his pulse and to see if his skin was clammy and/or feverish.  He seemed better.  Severus was glad – he wouldn't want anyone to doubt his potions skills, after all.  The Headmaster sat down on Ron's other side and stared solemnly across the bed at Severus.

"It was young Mister Malfoy, wasn't it," the Headmaster stated.

Severus sighed.  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.  A reaction headache from the stress was setting in.  "Yes."

"I know you're fond of the boy, Severus, but this is serious.  At the very least he will be expelled.  If the Ministry believes it's more than a prank, if they think he is one of Voldemort's minions" Severus flinched at his Master's name "then he will be sent to Azkaban."

"No!  Albus, he mustn't be sent there!  He'd never survive a day!"  Severus didn't enjoy pleading, but he'd beg the old wizard if it would spare one of his children that living death.  He took a deep breath to calm himself.  "There's no evidence.  No one need ever know it was Draco."

"I can't ignore attempted murder."

"Why not?  You have before," Snape said bitterly.

"It's not the same thing, Severus.  Sirius Black lost his temper, but this was premeditated on Draco Malfoy's part."

"Draco didn't have a choice, Albus!  Black did."

"But he did have a choice.  He could have come to me."

Snape scoffed.  "And betrayed his father to the dubious mercy of the Aurors?  That, or have You-Know-Who murder his whole family!  As it is, Lucius may sill die for Draco's failure!  I will suffer His wrath, too!"

"I can't just ignore this, Severus."

"Let me deal with Draco.  He truly regrets it, Albus.  He was crying over the thought that he'd murdered someone!  Draco doesn't have it in him to survive as a Death Eater.  He's spoiled and petty, but not really evil.  He may take the Dark Mark just to please his father, but he may also still have a chance.  If you expel him, that chance is gone.  You'll be condemning a sixteen year old boy to death, either by Slytherin's Heir or Dementor's Kiss.  Please, Albus, if he were one of your precious Gryffindors you'd never even consider doing this!"

"You know that's not true."  Severus remained defiantly silent at that and the Headmaster gave in with a shake of his head.  "Very well.  You may deal with Mister Malfoy as you will, but this is his last chance, Severus."

Snape slumped in his chair with relief.  Oh, he'd deal with Draco.  By the time he was though with the boy, Draco would never want to deal with the Dark Arts again.  Hopefully, he'd be able to save the boy from Voldemort, his father, and himself.  If he could just save this generation, save Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and all of his Slytherins and all of his students, if he could just _kill_ Voldemort… maybe he could forgive himself, redeem himself.  Ha!  Next thing you knew he'd be listening to sad music and drinking himself into a stupor.  "I think not," he murmured to himself.

"What was that?" Dumbledore asked.  Severus started and pulled himself out of his thoughts.

"Nothing.  Sorry, just thinking aloud."

The older wizard eyed him dubiously.  "Very well then.  Do you think you can cure Mister Weasley?"

"No," Snape said bluntly.  "I don't have that expertise.  But I know someone who does.  I don't know if I'll be able to persuade him to help, though."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.  "A Death Eater?"

"Ha!  No.  No, Master Po is may things, but his certainly not a Death Eater."

"Master Po?"

"Xhing Po, Master Poisoner of the last Emperors of China, Imperial Dragon of Chinese Wizarding society, and all around grumpy guy.  He was a colleague and friend and rival of my mentor.  Master Po and Master Gaverov would spend hours arguing about everything under the sun.  Master Po has made his life's work of the study of death potions.  He's the foremost expert in the world, certainly better than that idiot tooting his horn over in Chile or even old Master Nepthyes."

"Will this Master Po be amenable to helping?" the Headmaster asked.

Snape shook his head.  "I don't know.  He's Weasley's best hope, though.  I'll try to contact him."

"Good.  In the meantime, I'll go get someone at St. Mungo's working on the problem."

"_That_ lot won't help much.  They couldn't tell the Narcomortalis Potion from a love spell and they certainly won't know how to deal with the adulterated version Weasley was given."  Severus snorted.  "They'd most likely make him worse!"

"Nevertheless, I must tell Arthur and Molly that we're doing something to cure the lad.  You'll work on it, too?"

"Of course."

"Splendid.  Now, go get some rest, Severus.  I still need you to teach your regular classes but your research will take precedence over everything else.  The new DADA professor can oversee the Dueling Club for a few session, surely," Severus privately thought not, but the Headmaster was ever an optimist, "and I'll redistribute your scheduled detentions among the other professors, along with your appointments for tutoring.  Oh, and I'll have Filius finish teaching the special class that was interrupted tonight."

Well, at least there was one good thing this whole mess.  Hell, he should _thank_ Draco for his stupidity since it got him out of a fate worse than Death Eater meetings.

Flitwick was stuck with finishing the Talk for the fifth year boys despite all his protests and he spent a few days with a traumatized glaze in his eyes.  Snape secretly chortled in glee.  Even the death glares the tiny Charms professor shot him and the mutters of him getting it next year hadn't worried him.  What did worry him was Ron Weasley's condition.  The daily doses of his potion had turned the comatose boy's skin a pearly, glowing white.  His freckles had disappeared.  Snape spent a lot of time late at night when he couldn't sleep by the boy's bedside.

In fact, Ron almost always had someone with him.  A few days after his collapse, he'd started getting restless in his perpetual sleep.  At first, Snape and Madam Pomfrey had been hopeful that it was a sign he was recovering, but it was not to be.  The boy didn't have any more seizures but he may as well have with all the thrashing he did in his magical sleep.  He did himself a number of minor injuries.  However, when someone was with him, holding his hand, Ron calmed down.  Mrs. Weasley came everyday and took the morning shift.  Her three eldest sons came around to visit the boy and peel their mother away from his side in the afternoon, while Arthur Weasley visited every day after work.  Ginny and the twins visited him every chance they got in-between classes.  Those three were subdued, scared, and sad.  Miss Weasley had even started crying in his class just the day before!  He'd had to send her to Poppy for a sedative – after taking House points, of course.  And there hadn't been a spectacular prank pulled by the twins in the entire week Ron had been ill.  They were too busy sitting with Ron for their normal plots, Snape guessed.  Hermione Granger sat with Ron every evening after dinner until curfew, reading him the day's lessons.  And Harry Potter was seemingly always there.

In the meantime, Snape had been experimenting in his lab to find a cure.  He hadn't had any luck, and neither had those dunderheads at St. Mungo's.  He'd sent off an urgent owl to Master Pot that first night and still the man hadn't answered.  Snape was getting extremely anxious.  His potion would eventually start burning Ron's skin off even as it kept him alive.  They needed a cure soon.  Snape had done his research and learned that in the hundreds of years since the potion was developed by a bitter Turkish witch, a cure of the Narcomortalis Potion had never been found.  But since Ron wasn't dead yet – due to the introduction of the pumpkin juice to the potion – there was still hope.  So Snape spent most of his time slaving over his cauldrons.

Well, he had taken a bit of time to deal with Draco Malfoy.  As befitting his Death Eater image, he'd put the young Slytherin under a variety of painful hexes as punishment for not coming to him and for failing, all the while telling him that with their Lord the punishment would be even worse.  He'd hinted darkly about Voldemort's love for the Cruciatus Curse until the boy was shaking in terror over even the thought of becoming a Death Eater.  Snape still feared that he'd join to please his father.  Or even just to save his father's life.  Voldemort was not the forgiving sort and Lucius would be punished or even killed if Draco didn't join.  The Dark Lord was already displeased with the Malfoy family for failing to kill Potter.  Snape wasn't looking forward to the next Death Eater meeting and it was a given that Lucius Malfoy wasn't either.  They'd both be punished for Draco's failure.

Severus glanced at his cauldron to make sure it was bubbling correctly.  It was almost time for the next stage of his brewing so he sat out the ingredients he'd need.  Dryad skin, vampire dust, the heart of a harpy that had died of old age, and powdered panther claws.  He added everything but the dryad skin and vampire dust, eying the skin warily.  He'd never used it before and research into its effects was only now getting underway.  He'd recently read conflicting articles about the use of dryad skin in the Journal of Advanced Potions Research and the Journal of Medical Potions Applications.  It would either neutralize the explosive effects between the vampire dust and the troll's blood already in the potion or cancel out any positive effects the troll blood was supposed to have altogether.  Snape shrugged and added first the dryad skin and then a pinch of vampire dust, then immediately stepped back.  When no explosion was forthcoming, he cautiously stirred the mixture.  It turned azure and thickened substantially and emitted an odor like that of rotting flowers.  Not promising.  Snape sighed in disappointment and recorded the results of his latest experiment in his research journal.  Maybe cudgel root would work in place of the troll's blood.  That didn't react with vampire dust so he wouldn't have to deal with dryad skin, but it was a lot less powerful…

"Vampire dust, ha!"

Snape whirled to confront the derisive voice, badly startled over being caught unawares.  People rarely managed to sneak up on him.  He was usually too aware of his surroundings, ready for the worst.  Apparently, he'd lost himself in making a potion completely for the first time in years.  Making potions always comforted him but he hadn't enjoyed it so much since the heady days with Master Gaberov before the Dark Lord twisted his Art.

And there before him, standing next to Albus Dumbledore, was a relic of that past.  Master Po was just like Severus remembered, seemingly not having aged a day.  Since Severus knew for a fact that the tiny Chinese brewer was older than even the Headmaster, that was rather suspicious.  Master Po was a tad smaller than Flitwick – which was saying something!  He still wore the livery of an Imperial courtier and carried the gnarled wooden staff Chinese wizards favored in place of wands.  The same jade pendant hung on his neck and the same beady little eyes peered at him condescendingly from his heavily wrinkled face.  Those eyes had always made him feel like a poorly skilled, clumsy oaf.

"We knocked, but you didn't seem to hear us," Albus said brightly.  Severus ignored him.

"You don't approve of vampire dust?" he asked the small elder wizard.

Master Po snorted derisively and Severus suddenly had the odd thought that he was in the position of Neville Longbottom.  "A poor choice of ingredient when powdered willow sap is much more stable and effective and can easily replace vampire dust without the explosive interactions vampire dust is prone to."

Snape's smile was tight and smug.  "But powdered willow sap is extremely reactive to griffin's tears, which this potion includes."

"Ha!  And just what potion are you trying to brew, boy?"

"I'm looking for a cure for the pumpkin juice adulterated Narcomortalis Potion one of my students is suffering under," he said with dignity.

Master Po sneered.  It was an exceedingly impressive sneer.  Snape had, in fact, originally based his own classroom sneer on just this one directed at him right now.  And Master Po had over a hundred years of practice with it.  Snape felt quite dizzy from that look.  "Leave this sort of brewing to me.  You may be called Potions Master as a teacher here, but you won't be a true Master for another two decades at least."

That was actually quite a compliment.  Most wizards specializing in Potions weren't inducted into the ranks of true Masters of the Art until their ninetieth decade or more.  If he earned the rank of true Master while still so young, he would be truly honored.  Severus swallowed back his pride.  "Thank you, Master Po."

"Eh, Grimley may have been a pompous old bastard, but he did know his potions and he did see talent in you."  The old man rapped his staff on the stone floor.  "Enough of this!  Move, boy, I must have space to work."

Severus moved aside and started to set up his lab for the other wizard.  Although he'd never worked directly with Master Po before, the exercise brought back fond memories of working with Master Gaberov.  Severus admired the graceful, practiced skill that Master Po brought to his lab.  His technique with the knife could put the best of Voldemort's torturers to shame!  He grinned wryly – trust _him_ to think of comparing the measured strokes of a Potions Master cutting up his ingredients to a psychotic Death Eater slicing open a Muggle victim.  Occasionally, Severus questioned his own sanity.  Well, maybe he should just embrace his inner crazy; after all, it worked for Albus Dumbledore!

The Headmaster was inching his way toward the door to make his escape.  He grinned at Severus and opened the door.  At the sound, Master Po whirled and glared at the wizard even Slytherin's Heir feared.

"You!"

"Yes?" said Dumbledore mildly.

"I must have samples!  Blood, bile, saliva, hair from the poisoned boy.  And a loon blossom and powdered fairy wings.  If you want this boy cured, I must have the best!"

"Of course, I'll get right on it.  I'll also have tea and biscuits brought down here.  Maybe some toffee, too."  Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling as he slipped out.  Yes, insanity had definite perks, not the least of which was being amused rather than offended by being ordered about like a House Elf.

"And you," Master Po turned to him, "fetch me something the boy cherished, some possession he loved."

"Yes, my lord," Severus said sarcastically.  The ancient little wizard glared at him all the way out of the room.

Well.  Something Ronald Weasley cherished, eh?  Severus sighed.  He'd either have to make a trip up to Gryffindor Tower or talk to the boy's parents.  He grimaced.  The Tower, definitely – he'd not risk himself to another of Mrs. Weasley's disturbingly motherly hugs!  The very thought made his skin crawl.

The noon meal was soon, so hopefully most of the Gryffindor brats would be down in the Dining Hall.  The corridors were mostly empty anyway since it was the weekend and most students were outside enjoying the cool spring weather with pickup Quidditch games or long walks around the lake with their sweeties.  Except for the older Ravenclaws, who were probably in the Library studying with their sweeties.  The Gryffindors were generally a rambunctious bunch, so they'd probably be out of their Tower.  He'd just pop in and grab something…  Well, no, that wouldn't work, would it?  The item had to be something precious to the sick young man.  He'd have no clue.  Hell, with his luck, he'd grab something of Seamus Finnigan's!  No, he'd have to talk to one of Ron's friends, which meant – Harry Potter.

Harry Potter.  That damn boy seemed to be the focus of his existence.  Well, one of them, Lord Voldemort being the other focus.  He was pulled between the two on strings forged by Albus Dumbledore.  Forged by the Headmaster, maybe, but he'd tied them on himself.  He had been unable to save James and Lily Potter so he'd tied himself to their boy.  But he'd resented it, oh how he'd resented it!  Severus knew himself to be a basically selfish person and he hated owing someone, having to expend any of his time and energy on looking out for anyone else.  He'd take out that hate on the subject of his responsibility, Harry Potter.

Lately, however, his ire had cooled.  Ever since Christmas, he'd actually been nicer to the lad.  Like always, Harry had spent the hols at Hogwarts, but this year he'd been the only Gryffindor who'd stayed.  Severus didn't know why, since he knew the young man had been invited to spend Christmas with the Weasleys in Romania.  He'd asked and the little bastard has said something snippy about wanting to enjoy his company.  So Snape had obliged the boy by pestering him throughout the break.  It was fun provoking Harry to anger and then taking House points when he lost his temper.  Harry's eyes seemed to glow like a mad tomcat when he was frustrated and enraged.

Severus was well aware that he acted like a schoolyard bully – like Draco taunting the youngest Weasley boy, in fact – when he was around Harry Potter, but he just didn't give a shit.

Snape sighed.  He may not really hate the boy, but that certainly didn't mean he wanted to talk to Harry.  Potter, he didn't want to talk to _Potter_.  Right.  He sighed again and glared at the portrait of the Fat Lady.  She squeaked in fright and swung open, revealing the Gryffindor Common Room.

He strode inside and sneered around the room.  He'd been correct in assuming it would be mostly empty.  The only inhabitants were a group of third and fourth year girls.  They went silent and shrunk back into their chairs when they saw him, amusingly frightened looks on their faces.  He swept past them and up the stairs to the boys dorm.  Thankfully, the sixth year's dorm room was nicely labeled as such.  He pushed the door open and was relieved to find it empty of the sixth years themselves.  Oh well, he'd just have to guess.  He hadn't _really_ wanted to talk to Harry anyway.  Of course he hadn't.

A survey of the room revealed quite a lot about its inhabitants, although nothing he hadn't already known or could have guessed about.  The bed with Muggle football poster over it was probably Dean Thomas', he recognized Harry's bed from the Snitch on the nightstand, and – ah, yes, he recognized that egregious handwriting on the papers spread across that bed, it had to be Seamus Finnigan's.  He'd lay long odds that the bed with the horrid old-fashioned throw pillows littered across it was Neville Longbottom's, so that meant Ron's was the one with the Chudley Cannons poster over it.  He studied the moving player on the poster and shook his head.  Some things never changed, it seemed.  He'd had one just like it over his bed down in the Slytherin dorms when he was a student.  Once upon a time, he'd followed the sport quite closely and the Cannons had been his team.

With a simple Alohamora spell, Severus had Weasley's trunk open and began rifling through it.  He supposed he should feel guilty for invading the young man's privacy, but his capacity for guilt was finite and he'd reached his limit _years_ ago.  Besides, he was doing it to same Mister Weasley's life.  Still, he enjoyed letting his inner snoop have free range.  Maybe he'd find out something interesting about Ronald Weasley, maybe even the reason Harry was so devoted to the bloke.  Well, that was probably something intangible and well-hidden – _he'd_ certainly never seen much to recommend Weasley to him – and he needed some object Mister Weasley considered precious.  A collection of song crystals – Mister Weasley appeared to be a fan of girly bands like Strega Power and the Purple Sunshine Singers, – a rather impressive collection of Famous Wizard Cards, various hand-me-down clothes, a Victor Krum action figure, a pair of girls underwear – Severus raised his eyebrows and chuckled, wondering if they fit a certain know-it-all sixth year Gryffindor prefect, – a stack of second-hand school books, a chipped cauldron, an ink and quill set, several rolls of scrolls, a few Quidditch magazines, a bottle of Grumbly Potion to cure stomach upsets – generic brew, substandard quality, – a  stack of birthday cards and notes from his friends and family, a small cigar box filled with pretty stones and various bits and bobs…

"Hey, what are you _doing_!?!"

Snape calmly continued to sift through Ron Weasley's possessions, not even bothering to look at the angry student behind him.  "Five points from Gryffindor."

"What?!"

"Mister Potter, I know you were not raised in polite society, but you have been at this institution for six years now and should know better than to question a professor in such a manner.  I will excuse your disrespect at this time because you are obviously overwrought over your friend, but I will not be so lenient again."

Severus glanced behind him at his student.  Harry was breathing hard and flushed.  His hair seemed even messier they usual and his eyes were flashing with anger.  Severus noted that out of his school robe, Harry finally looked like he was filling out his oversized Muggle clothes with lean muscle.  He looked good.

"For your information," Snape said, "a cure for your friend is being brewed right now, but a possession Mister Weasley owns that is precious to him is needed to complete it."

"Oh!"  Harry's anger was replaced by a look of hope and excitement.  "Brilliant!  Here, let me, I know what Ron's treasures are."

Severus sat back on his heels as Harry knelt next to him.  He found himself oddly aware of Harry's body next to him.  He'd never been this close to Harry before except when looming over him in class, but here on the floor they were at the same level and the animosity that was usually between them had vanished.  It was nice.  Harry smelled of sun and sweat, overlaid with antiseptic.

"You've been in the Infirmary with Mister Weasley?"

"Of course," Harry said absently as he searched for something in Ron's crowded trunk.  "Sylvie and Charlotte" Severus remembered the girls from the Common Room who he'd frightened earlier "came and got me.  I left Hermione with Ron to keep him company."

"And where is Mrs. Weasley today?"

"The twins and Ginny took her to Hogsmead.  Hermione suggested it.  Hopefully, it will distract them all for a bit.

"Ah."  It sounded like something Granger would suggest, she was the smart one after all.  She had probably told Molly Weasley that her other children were suffering and needed her attention and then turned around and told them that they needed to take care of their mother.  That girl was a master manipulator, and ambitious to boot.  She should have been a Slytherin.

"Found it!"  Harry held up a golden sun disk medallion, which gleamed as it twirled on its chain, but it still wasn't as bright as Harry's grin.  Severus loved making Potter angry, but maybe he should try to make him smile instead.  Harry's smile made him pleasantly warm.

Severus suddenly noticed that Harry was blushing and looking at him oddly and he realized that he must have been staring at the Gryffindor for awhile.  Fortunately, the Snapes had bred blushing out of the family lineage.  That didn't keep him from feeling horribly embarrassed, but his lack of blush and a lifetime of hiding his true feelings served him well so he didn't show it.

"Yes?" he replied coolly, raising an eyebrow, hoping Harry couldn't see his pulse jumping in his throat.

"It's, um, it's a curse-burner.  It's very old and powerful.  Bill Weasley found it in an old tomb.  He said that hanging around with me, Ron would need it.  He takes it out every night.  It's definitely precious to him."

"Thank you, Mister Potter."  Severus held out his hand for the sun disk, but Potter seemed reluctant to part with it.

"You're not going to destroy it, are you?"

"What is more important, Ron's life or this curse-burner?"

"Ron's life, of course, but he really loves this…"

Severus exhaled softly and leaned forward.  "All the better to save him."

Harry looked down and his voice was rough.  "I want him to live."

With one hand, Severus cupped Harry's chin and tilted his head up until their eyes locked.  "I promise that I will save Ronald Weasley's life."  "For you" was unspoken but they both heard it.  Severus gently unwound Harry's fingers from the golden chain of the medallion with his free hand.  His hands felt burnt by Harry's heated skin and his body was pierced by Harry's powerful eyes.

Severus pulled himself away and climbed to his feet.  He had work to do and Master Po was doubtlessly waiting for him.  Now was not the time to be indulging in fiery touches and poetic feelings.  And certainly not with a student!  He'd been attracted to students before and now that he knew what was going on he could deal with it.  Repression was his friend.  Besides, he didn't even particularly _like_ Harry Potter!

"Sir!"  Harry's voice stopped him as he turned to go.  "Thank you."  He nodded curtly at the still-kneeling Gryffindor and strode out, intent on fulfilling his promise.

The cure took three days to brew and required the constant attention of either Master Po or Snape.  The finished potion was a swirl of gold and black, steamed faintly, and smelled of heather and clean spring mornings.  It was a masterpiece, and Snape felt honored to have been able to work on it with an expert of Master Po's standing.  Not that he'd ever tell the old Chinese reprobate that.  Master Po was already arrogant enough as it was, although _he_ certainly wasn't one to talk.

Now they were going to find out if all their hard work had paid off.  Snape watched as Madam Pomfrey gently steered Molly Weasley away from the bed.  The entire Weasley clan was there, Ron's six siblings and his parents, as well as his two best friends, Harry and Hermione, plus the Headmaster.  Worry filled their faces.  It was no wonder, since Ron was obviously failing.  The young man's skin was thin and dry, his veins a clear blue spider web across his body, replacing the freckles that had long since been burned away by Snape's stopgap potion.  He was also very still.  In the last day or so, the restlessness that had previously plagued his coma had disappeared.  Madam Pomfrey had him back on the Paceus charm to keep his heart beating and was monitoring for seizures since they had stopped dosing Ron with the stopgap potion the day before so it wouldn't interfere with the effects of the new potion.

Snape moved closer to the sick bed and brought out the sun medallion curse-burner.  Master Po had been delighted with the object, saying that the innate magical properties of the curse-burner would work in their favor.  The medallion might even survive the cure.  The potion he and Master Po had concocted would charge the lingering poisons in Ron's blood that were killing him in such a way that the malevolent magic would hopefully be drawn into the object precious to the poisoned boy.  Once Ron was dosed, they had to be sure not to touch him until all of the poison was drawn out or risk being poisoned themselves.  Master Po had told him that the technique was a variation of one created to cure some ancient Chinese emperor's mercury poisoning.

Master Po himself was so confident in the cure that he'd already departed.  He was probably already back to inventing new death potions rather than trying to cure them.  Master Po didn't like sustained contact with other people.  In fact, he hadn't even visited the subject of his efforts.  Snape himself had visited Ron Weasley late every night.  It wasn't out of compassion for the sick lad or something like that, he'd simply wanted to check on the progress of his deterioration.  Right, and sitting in the dark holding the sweaty hands of young Mister Weasley for several hours was doing just that.

Madam Pomfrey was drawing aside Mister Weasley's clothes.  Severus gently laid the sun disk on Ron's fragile skin, right above the heart.  The gold of the sun medallion glinted against the pale chest of the ill Gryffindor.  The lad looked like some sort of warrior-saint, a paladin laid out in state after having died for his king.  But Severus hoped to prevent Ron's death.  Harry needed his paladin too much, he'd be shattered if Ron died.  And Severus had promised.  Besides, he wanted to see Harry smile.

The room was charged with hushed expectation.  Snape could feel the weight of all those Weasley eyes on him.  Not to mention the heat of Harry's eyes burning into his back.  Severus remembered the scene the day before when he and Poppy had explained Ron's cure to the family, plus his closest friends, Harry and Hermione.  It was gratifying to know that they all had great confidence in him, but it was also a bit overwhelming.  Should he fail…

Nonsense, he would not fail Harry and the others.  He handed the gold and black potion to Madam Pomfrey.  She gently spelled the liquid down Ron's throat and stepped back.  The potion started working almost immediately.  The curse-burner started to glow brighter and brighter.  Ron suddenly arched his back and cried out as the medallion's glow became blinding.

"Ron!" Harry yelled and tried to go to his friend.

"Foolish boy!" Severus hissed and grabbed him.  Harry struggled to go to Ron and Severus was forced to hold him tightly to him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur holding his sobbing wife, Ginny and Hermione holding the twins back from going to Ron, and Albus putting a restraining hand on Bill's shoulder while Percy bit his lip worriedly and Charlie paced in frantic circles.  He should have had Poppy dose the whole lot of them with a Calming Draught!

The dazzle of the curse-burner started to fade.  Severus watched in rapt fascination as the medallion seemed to sink into Ron's skin a bit before it flared one last time and disappeared.  Harry stopped struggling in his arms and sagged against him.  Severus abruptly realized that he was embracing Harry Potter.  He could feel the lean young muscles of an athlete under the lad's school robe pressed against him.  Warmth suffused his body and Severus realized with uncomfortable clarity that he enjoyed holding the smaller but still adult body of his student.  The warmth turned to a burn as Harry raised his head and looked up at him.  Those clear green eyes seemed to scorch him.  Severus forgot all about Ronald Weasley and everyone else in the room…

"Ron, oh Ron!"  The patient was stirring and Molly Weasley was hovering over the sickbed.  Severus pushed Harry out of his arms.  Thankfully, Ron's timely recovery had saved him from an egregious mistake.  He watched Harry hurry to Ron's side.  At Madam Pomfrey's nod, Harry and Molly each too one of the lad's hands.  The other Weasleys and Hermione crowded around the bed and Snape stepped back.

Ron's eyes fluttered open.  "…mum-?  harry."  Molly was crying with joy now and hugged her son.  A babble of relieved voiced broke out over the Infirmary.  Now was the time to make his escape.  Should he stay, he would doubtless be subjected to pathetic Weasley gratitude and more hugs from the effusive Mrs. Weasley.  His sneer just seemed to have no effect on that woman.  Probably having Fred and George and the rest of that brood as children had inured her to all sorts of things.

A hand patted his shoulder.  Severus was too late, the Headmaster had caught him.  "Fine work, my boy."

"I didn't do much but owl Master Po, Albus."

"Nonsense.  You kept Mister Weasley alive long enough for your esteemed Chinese friend to come.  You saved his life."

"Of course.  Now, if you don't mind, it's been a rather hectic few days and I need to rest."

Albus beamed at him.  "Good, good!  Mustn't fall asleep while teaching class!"

Severus growled and left the Infirmary.  Blesses silence.  He leaned against the cool stone wall of the hallway.  Cold was good, silence was good.  His dungeon rooms were cold and silent – he liked them that way.  He did.

"Professor?"

Severus started and looked up, jarred out of his reverie by Harry Potter's hesitant voice.  The young man stood before Severus, tear tracks dried to a crust on his face, his hair wild and unkempt, his glasses skewed.  Lovely, simply lovely.

"Shouldn't you be with your friend, Mister Potter?"

"Ron's fine, he's got his family and Hermione.  I just, um, I wanted to thank you."

"There's no need-"  His denial was cut off abruptly as Harry leaned toward him… and kissed him.  Harry's hands were on his chest, his lips were on Severus' lips.  Three points of heat that seared him down to his very soul.  The kiss was over in an instant and lasted forever.  Then Harry was gone, as if he'd just been a figment of Severus' imagination.  Severus brought a hand to his lips.  No, it hadn't been a dream, Harry Potter had kissed him.

Well.  Well, _that_ was interesting.  Harry was in his sixth year?  Yes, one more year and then… Yes.  It was worth pursuing when the time came.  Most certainly.

As he sauntered to his rooms for a well-deserved sleep filled with dreams of a certain Boy-Who-Lived, the smile Severus sported was enough to terrify any student he passed.  Unfortunately, no one saw him.

THE END


End file.
